Where There is Smoke
by MSCSIFANGSR
Summary: A frank discussion between Brass and Grissom, while both are drunk, about a certain female brunette CSI. This is a very belated response to the first Improve Challenge at YTDAW. Story is Complete.
1. Chapter 1

**TITLE: Where There is Smoke**

**AUTHOR: MSCSIFANGSR aka NoHayRemedio**

**PAIRING: Brass-Grissom friendship, G/S Angst Implied.**

**RATING: PG-13**

**SUMMARY: A frank discussion between Brass and Grissom while both are drunk about Grissom's unresolved feelings for a certain brunette CSI.**

**DISCLAIMER: I'm just playing with them.**

**NOTES: This was the first FicChallenge on the Improv from Mossley. Since I wasn't writing CSI fan fiction at the time or even aware there were people out there actually writing these wonderful stories, I thought I would attempt this challenge. Also this is my first attempt at a songfic, the songs are "Free Bird" by Lynyrd Skynyrd and "Reminds Me of You" by Van Morrison. Beta'd by the always wonderful Giwu, who cleaned up my mistakes.**

**SPOILERS: This is loosely in the 4th Season, several weeks after "Butterflied" and "Early Rollout", but before "Bloodlines".**

**The smoke drifted upward slowly.** Grissom watched the cigar smoke with the same investigative regard as he would evidence. It captured all his thoughts, everything else was blocked out of his mind. The smoke curled as if it were a side winding snake, making tracks against the sand of the desert, running from whatever predator who happened to be chasing it. When the door to the dark bar opened and shut quickly, the smoke in the air dissipated but was soon replaced by another stream of fume from the imported cigar Detective Jim Brass held in his right hand. His left hand turned an empty shot glass upside down and back up with a steady tap tap repetition. Neither man had spoken since they had downed their fifth shot of scotch. Grissom was fascinated with the smoke from the other man's cigar and Brass was lost in thoughts of a woman he had known long ago, in what seemed another life, in a far-away place called New Jersey.

Brass' voice cut the uncomplicated silence between the two men who sat surrounded by the noises from the crowd and the house band, playing a Lynyrd Skynyrd tune badly. "Gil, have you ever been in love?"

Jim stopped his empty shot glass in mid-air while waiting for Grissom's response and took a long draw on the cigar, filling his lungs with the luxurious taste of the cigar.

Grissom had heard Jim's question over the blare of the electric guitars, but his focus was still on the smoke curling from the cigar. The singer's voice cut through the sound of the guitars battling for dominance and Grissom missed the first words. He cut his focus from the smoke to the singer on the small stage. The man had long blond greasy hair, and dressed as was the rage among hardened rock n' rollers in a torn t-shirt and busted out levis. Grissom let the words flow through his senses as had the scotch he had previously drunk.

_Please don't take it so badly; Lord knows I'm to blame._

_If I stay here with you now, things just couldn't be the same._

_Cause I'm as free as a bird and the bird you'll never change._

_And the bird you cannot change. And the bird you cannot change._

_Lord knows I can't change; Lord help me, I can't change; Lord I can't change._

Brass looked at Gil as the music reached it's crescent, wondering if the man had heard his earlier question. Brass motioned for the barman to bring them another round with the flick of his wrist, practiced by many years of drinking in establishments such as the one they were in now.

Jim observed the man beside him, wondering if Grissom knew himself at all. He knew Grissom was in love, but possibly the man didn't know he was in love. He had seen all the signs, heard Grissom's confession of love to a murder suspect of all people, watched as the object of Gil's desire floundered, then succumbing to the same nasty demon the two of them were worshipping at the moment. The demon of drink; the elixir to help forget what could not be forgotten.

Both men reached for the new round of shots at the same time and threw the liquid down their throats with a grunt, slamming the glasses onto the bar with a bang. The bartender stood before Brass, questioning him, with his eyes, wondering if they wanted another shot or had the liquid fire taken a toll on their bodies, yet? Brass shrugged his shoulders, and replied: "Maybe in a little while." The bartender wandered off to serve other customers, as the two men sat, one smoking, slightly inebriated, the other appeared off in some parallel universe staring off into nothing, saying nothing, lost in space, perhaps?

"Yes." Grissom's voice was low, almost too low to be heard over the din of noise, but Brass somehow heard him. Brass nodded his head once as he looked at Gil: His friend's finely groomed beard was a jumble of hairs growing in opposite directions, his hair appeared longer and much curler than he usually allowed.His normally bright azure eyes where tinged with redness. "I don't know what to do about it, though. So I decided to do nothing, but that's wrong. I need to do something, but I don't know what."

The two men listened to the end of the guitar solo and the bartender came by again, questioning Brass with uplifted eyebrows. He turned to Grissom, who nodded in the affirmative. Soon there were two more shot glasses before them empty. The band played several more classic songs from the 1970's, and the men both stared off blankly, lost in their own thoughts. Brass pulling on the cigar; Grissom watching the smoke.

After what could have been fifteen minutes after his confession of sorts, Grissom turned back to his friend and said: "Jim, I really have enjoyed this, but I need to get home and get some sleep."

"Let me call us a cab, we'll share, because we're both too drunk to try to drive ourselves."

"Okay."

Jim reached into his pocket, pulling out a small wad of bills, throwing two fifty dollar bills onto the bar, looking to Grissom, who started to protest, but Brass waved him off, "I asked you to come have a drink with me, so it's on me. You can pay for the cab."

Grissom nodded in agreement, watching as Brass touched the pad of his cell phone with a delicately practiced form, and then brought the phone to his ear for a moment, before he spoke again: "Yes, we need a cab..." Brass trailed off as Grissom lost interest as the band began playing another tune, he did not recognize it, and was unsure whether or not he had ever had the song. It was slow with slight twang of almost country. The singer's voice brought forth images into his mind; colorful images of Sara, his employee, his not quite friend, or lover, but she was the woman he loved.

I_ miss you so much I can't stand it, seems like my heart is breaking in two.  
My head says no, but my soul demands it.  
Everything I do reminds me of you.  
I miss you so much in this house full of shadows;  
While the rain keeps pouring down my window too.  
When will the pain, recede to the darkness from whence it has come, when I m feeling so blue.  
Ain't going down no more to 'The Whale';  
Sometimes It feels like I'm going to hell.  
Sometimes I'm knocking on your front door, but I don't have nothing, to sell no more.  
Seems like the spirit is pushing me onward, I'm able to see where I tripped and went wrong.  
Just have to guess where my soul will find comfort. But I miss you so much when I'm singing my song.  
Ain't going down no more to 'The Whale';  
Sometimes it seems I'm going to hell.  
You'll find me knocking on your front door, But I don't have nothing to sell no more  
Feels like my spirit is pushing me onward  
But I'm able to see where I tripped and went wrong  
Just have to guess where my soul will get comfort  
I miss you so much when I'm singing my song  
I miss you so much I can't stand it seems like my heart is breaking in two.  
Head says go, but my soul demands it,  
Everything I do, reminds me of you.  
Everything I do, reminds me of you.  
Everything I do, reminds me of you.  
_

"Everything I do, reminds me of Sara", he continued to sing the song after the song and appause had died.

Brass looked at him sharply. "Did you just say that?"

Gil looked at him, wondering if he had sang out loud. "I guess I did" He admitted.

"You know, Gil, that girl has it as bad for you as you do for her. If you are saying things like that, I think you need some air. Come on, let's wait outside for the cab." Brass stuck the short end of his cigar into his mouth, stood up from the barstool, gripped Grissom's arm and pulled him off his stool.

"Come on, Gil. Maybe I can help you out of here." The drunk Brass assisted the less than sober Grissom across the short space between where they had been sitting and the door. When Grissom opened the door to the outside world, he looked back, hoping to see a bit of the smoke he had previously been so intent upon earlier. But the smoke had dispelled as the fresh air came into the room.

Standing outside at the curb, both men stood lost in their own thoughts.

"You know what you should do right now, while you're too drunk to chicken out?" Brass' voice cut into the blackness of Grissom's mind.

"Pass out?" Grissom smirked.

"No, you should go to Sara's apartment. Tell her you love her, romance her a little, slip in between the sleets and her thighs," he winked at the drunk Grissom, and continued, "Wake up in her arms every day for the rest of your lives. It would be good for you as much as it would be good for her." Brass drew the last bit of smoke from his cigar, snubbed it out under his black leather shoes, and looked at Grissom for his reaction.

Gil had a strange look upon his face. He was clutching his chest slightly, began coughing from all the smoke he had inhaled in the bar. "If only," was his response.

The two men waited another few minutes for the cab to arrive and when it did, Brass quickly gave his address to the cabbie. Grissom piled his 6'2" frame into the small taxi, smelling the putrid odor from other patron's who had lost their battle with the bottle and he tried his hardest not to vomit. Brass told the driver to take him to his house first, then to take Grissom to another address.

Brass shut the door to the cab against his right leg. Grissom looked to him and said, "You know that's not my address. I'm not too drunk to realize that's Sara's address."

**"You ruined my surprise."**


	2. Chapter 2

**See chapter one for declaimer. Also thanks to the wonderful beta, Giwu. Thanks to the following readers who reviewed the first chapter: **csijunkie no1 1, missphat, WalkerTRngr, onebsmom, gsr4ever, and wiske2 on ytdaw. Thanks for the kind compliments.

**Chapter 2: There's Fire**

**"You ruined my surprise."**

Grissom could still hear the words of Jim Brass ringing in his ears as the cab slowly moved back into traffic. He could still see Brass as he stared out the back window of the car, unlocking his house, opening the door and stepping inside, closing the door behind him. Grissom turned his attention forward to the dark haired man who was driving the cab, studied his license adorning the visor, Joseph Wallace, was his name. Grissom then looked at the radio seeing it was tuned to 104.3 or maybe was it the time, he wasn't entirely sure.

He wanted to change the cab's destination to his address, but he was unable to speak to the cabbie. Words were not forming, he could think them, but he couldn't seem to verbalize them or push them past his lips, the scotch he had consumed eroded his control of his senses.

Grissom knew he couldn't just show up on Sara's doorstep, drunk, in the middle of the afternoon, without calling or being invited, so he quickly pulled his cell phone from his pants pocket and pushed the appropriate buttons to reach Sara. It rang 4, 5, 6, 7, 8 times before he ended the call. Good, he didn't have to talk to her and she probably wasn't at home. But if she wasn't at home, where was she? Did it matter if she were home or not? He wanted her at home, he just didn't want her to see him like this, unable to make sense even to himself.

He would let this cab driver drop him off at Sara's, then he would call, if he could talk by then, another cab to come take him to his townhouse. He knew the alcohol had limited his reactions and his thought processes, but he had enjoyed his time with Brass, drinking with a sense of comradery he shared with very few people over the course of his lifetime. Grissom wanted to share more with the sultry Sara Sidle than a just a few glances, fewer words, and the almost non-existent friendship they had now. He missed their steady friendship from before she had moved to Las Vegas.

Grissom sat back in the seat, closed his eyes, knowing it would take at least 20 more minutes before they reached Sara's. He closed his eyes for what seems like seconds before he was startled by the sound of the driver's voice: "Hey dude, wake up. We can't get to where you wanted to go, because there are fire trucks everywhere."

Grissom opened his eyes, shading them quickly, because the light made his head hurt, badly. He could see the smoke billowing from a building on the right side of the street but the afternoon sun was so bright, he was unsure of his exact location. There were three fire trucks, one with a ladder extending to the building and the others were surrounded by onlookers. Men pulling fire hoses in different directions, some clattered up the ladder into the building disappearing into the smoke while others moved in and out of the apartment complex, bringing out residents who had been in the building.

And there she stood. The object of his affection, the woman who unnerved him, moved him, and challenged him to be a better man. Oh my God, she was beautiful.

"Hail Mary, Full of Grace, the Lord is with Thee. Blessed art thou among women and blessed is the fruit of thy womb, Jesus. Holy Mary, Mother of God, be with us now and at the hour of our death." Grissom spoke quietly and quickly from rote memorization from his youth.

"Man, is that your place going up in flames?" Joseph Wallace turned to look at the man back seat of his cab. He had seen the look of horror on the man's face in the rear view mirror, and now the guy was praying. _"It must be bad,"_ Wallace thought to himself.

"No." Grissom answered simply.

"Thank God," the younger man said.

Grissom reached for his wallet, looking at the meter, saw he owed the man $34.95, pulled two twenty dollar bills out. "Keep the change." Grissom left the cab without another word.

His gait pattern belayed his genu vargus in an almost exaggerated way, but no one watched as he walked up behind Sara, calmly laid both hands on her shoulders. She started at his touch, turning quickly to see who had touched her and her defenses where high. When she saw it was Grissom, she relaxed and spoke to him.

"What are you doing here?" She asked.

He looked at the way she was dressed: casual loose fitting jeans, a formerly white t-shirt, hair pulled back in a tight pony tail. She was so beautiful. He reached for her and pulled her into his arms, against his chest, her face turned slightly inward at his left shoulder.

"Sara, are you okay?" His voice cracked with the words of concern.

She didn't say anything for several moments, lost in the unexpected embrace of the man she had pined for, for too many years. Sara could smell the whisky emanating from his skin and she suddenly pushed away from him. "I'm fine, why wouldn't I be?"

"Your apartment building is on fire." Grissom tried to get closer to her after she pulled away, but she leaned away from him. He looked across the street to the burning building.

"No, that's not my building. I live in the building behind us. I was just unofficially investigating the scene to see if there were any pyros in the crowd."

Grissom relaxed with her words. "This is day-shift's case"

"Griss, you're pulling me from this case?" She smirked.

"I didn't assign it to you." He smirked.

"Are you drunk?" She asked after several moments.

"Well, if throwing back seven or eight shots of scotch without eating in a space of two hours will give a person a blood alcohol level of approximately 0.9, then I'm legally over the limit; yes, I'm drunk," he admitted.

Sara was stunned. "How did you get here?"

"Cab."

"Why are you here? Did you hear about the fire on the police scanner and come to check on me?" She accused.

"Oh, no, the cab brought me here because Brass told it to." He answered honestly.

"Why did he do that?"

"He seems to think I need to sleep with you," he blurted without thought.

Sara's pupils enlarged and her brown tinted irises shrunk. She opened her mouth to speak, but only an 'O' formed. She began to take several steps back and immediately came into contact with the frame of one of the fire trucks. Grissom moved toward her, but her look said, _Back off_, so he kept a respectable distance between them.

They stood together, but far apart, looking at one another; his eyes were talking to her, but she didn't know how to read them. Finally, he gave up and watched as the flames shot out from one of the windows on the fifth floor of the apartment building across the street from where they were standing. The flames licked the terrace of the apartment which held two over-sized planters, three lounge chairs and a large grill. A slight breeze brought the fumes from the fire toward them. Grissom became nauseous and looked for a place to eject the offending smoke from his lungs and the putrid liquor from his body, but before he could, Sara's arms were on him. Grissom started coughing and struggled to catch his breath. Sara pulled him into her building and pushed him toward the stairwell. He was still struggling for breath, when he became suddenly very pale and tinged with green around his mouth and eyes.

"I ... I ..." motioning with his hands about what he was about to do, in what could have been sign language. Grissom half-ran toward the garbage can standing about 5 yards from him, but the increased motion on his body put too much pressure on his gag reflex and he began to throw up in heaves, splattering the concrete with his vomit, missing the garbage can by several feet.

Sara turned her head slightly from the smell, but kept her eyes on his frame as the spasms overtook him. She knew how she felt about this man, if there had been any doubt in her mind before now, it was gone. She reached out to touch him on his shoulder as he emptied the contents of his stomach.

When he was finished, he wiped his mouth with his sleeve and looked down, not at the mess he had created, but at Sara's feet. She had on white athletic socks, but her big toe on her right foot was sticking out through a hole.

"You okay?"

"Yeah."

"You think you can make it upstairs?" She saw some of the vomit clinging to his shirt, she vaguely suppressed her own gag reflex. He nodded and she pushed him up the stairs, slowly and painstakingly, one step at a time due to the dry heaves he was experiencing. "Come on, Griss, you can do it," she kept the patter of encouraging words all the way up the stairs, down the hall, finally reaching her door. She opened the door and he began to gag again. She immediately pushed him toward the sink in her kitchen that was located by the entrance to her apartment. He heaved again, but no liquid spewed forth from his mouth. He turned on the faucet, filling his cupped hands, splashing the water across his ruggedly handsome face.

"My shower is down the hall and to the right. Hand me your clothes when you get undressed and I'll wash them for you while you're in the shower."

He took her command at face value, moved his tortured body down her small hallway, locating the bathroom, quickly closed the door behind him. He stripped, opened the door a sliver. "Sara?"

"Yeah?" She was standing by the closed door awaiting the sound of his voice.

It unnerved him to think the only thing between the two of them was the door. "Here are my clothes." As he reached to hand her his clothes, their hands brushed. An electric current flowed through him. He resisted the urge to invite her into her own bathroom, so, he shut the door with a bang.

She stood there holding his soiled clothes and undergarments, her hand on fire from the accidental brush. She listened to him turn on the shower and she imagined his naked body in her shower. It was really getting hot in here. She turned to take his clothes to her machine, trying to put the thought of him, in her shower, out of her mind.

Grissom had not yet climbed into the shower, his thoughts were occupied by the thought of her hand on another part of his anatomy. He knew he should do what Brass suggested earlier in the evening, but he was unsure. He looked out the window and saw the firemen who were close to extinguishing the fire across the street. He watched as **the smoke drifted upward slowly.**

**TBC**


	3. Chapter 3

**Conclusion to 'Where There is Smoke' **

**Rating has increased to M this chapter for a sexual situation and language.**

**The poem in this story was also written by me.**

**Thanks to ayesha-s, evi de smedt, Ampad, sky m, contrary motion, gsr4ever, WalkerTRngr, sugarXcouture, Haldir's Heart and Soul, and wiske2 on ytdaw and all you sly ones who put this story on story alert, for your kind words of encouragement and reviews for Chapter Two. Hehe, and to whoever said there were women firefighters too, I hope you are pleased. Giwu for her excellent beta skills. And to Pam for always reading my stories and encouraging me to keep writing. **

**See Chapter one for spoilers and disclaimer **

**Chapter 3 **

**The smoke drifted upward slowly** as the last vestiges of the fire that had consumed the apartment building across the street from his unobstructed view from the third floor was put out by the firemen. Grissom had finished showering only minutes before in Sara's bathroom, with Sara's unscented soap and her slightly floral scented shampoo. He dried his body with Sara's solid white towel as he watched the men and women of the fire crew below pull the hoses back onto the trucks. He stood drying himself with one hand and holding back the curtain with the other. He knew he probably had been in the shower for about 30 minutes, but he really had no true concept of time because the alcohol he had previously consumed. He thought it was ample opportunity for his clothes to have completed the washing cycle and hoped Sara would have them in the dryer by now. It shouldn't take long for his clothes to dry; he reasoned to himself, nothing he had worn was 100 cotton, so drying time should be approximately 30 more minutes. So, what was he supposed to do in the meantime while he waited?

Grissom stood with a towel wrapped around his mid-section. He had a sudden inspiration: he would call the man who had put him in this situation to help him get out of it. He looked around Sara's tidy bathroom for the things he carried in his trousers: his wallet, keys, cell phone, an extra set of latex gloves, an odd amount of change and if he remembered correctly, a book of matches from the bar where Brass and he had consumed mass qualities of scotch. But none of those items were in this bathroom. He must have left them in his pants when he handed them to Sara. He thought back to their brief, electric touch. Gil felt energized by their contact. The feral sexual response to her touch was nothing new, but the feel of her against his skin while he stood naked with only a door between them, heightened his immediate erection. He wanted to pull Sara into the small bathroom, take her into his waiting arms and make mad passionate love to her. But, instead, he'd closed the door as if their touch was part of the flaming building across the street.

He had to call Brass. He wanted to make love to Sara. But he knew he couldn't. After all, he followed the rules his whole life and if he were to be with Sara, then it would be breaking more rules and regulations than he cared to admit, both in the LVMPD and Clark County employment handbooks and he was definitely sure it was go against the Federal Sexual Harassment statues. He knew the scotch had temporarily loosened whatever control he normally had over his actions. But before he could call Jim, he knew he would have to talk to Sara first, to ask her where she had put his cell phone, wallet, and other items. But he couldn't just let Sara see him with only a towel around his waist. It would be rather obvious to her, since she was a very observant CSI, that he was aroused at the mere thought of her.

But he knew he couldn't just sit in her bathroom for another 30 minutes or so until his clothes were laundered. He really needed Jim's advice now. He reached for the doorknob, turning as if to open the door, however he stopped the motion of his hand. Instead, he opted for a better solution. "Sara?" he semi yelled and waited for her response.

After several minutes, he had not received an answer or heard any indication of movement in the apartment. He began to shout her name rather loudly, with the sound of his voice vibrating in his already sore throat from purging the alcohol from his system earlier. There was a slight echo in the bathroom as he continued to call her name. Grissom had a sudden vision of a nude Sara lying asleep in her bed, the bed he surreptitiously eyed as through the open door to his left as he entered the bathroom. In his mind's eye, the fantasy played: Sara's pale skin dramatic in contrast to the darkness of the bedroom. Her small breasts uncovered by the sheet which covered her torso. His cock sprang to life under his towel and unconsciously, his right hand moved down, slipping under the towel. He probed his length with his fingers, running between his thumb and forefinger. Images of Sara opening her eyes as he entered the room, the inviting look on her face, as she waggled her finger at him, him sliding soundlessly into the bed beside her flashed through his mind. Taking her mouth, her mind, her body as his. His hand was moving almost furiously against his own skin, when he heard her moan his name, _"Gil." _Just the thought of it made him want her more, and the faster his cupped hand moved, his breathing and heart rate skyrocketed.

_"Grissom."_

"Grissom."

"Grissom?" Gil suddenly stopped his unfulfilled fantasy, when he realized the sound of her voice wasn't in his thoughts, but was indeed coming from the other side of the door, that supported his weight. He felt his erection soften and a deep blush covered his body.

"Grissom?" Sara was beginning to shout. "Grissom, are you okay?"

No answer as he stood attempting to catch his breath.

"Grissom, are you okay?" She repeated a little louder this time. "I'm coming in."

The sound of Sara jiggling the knob, threw him into a panic. "No, Sara. NO!"

Grissom immediately pulled the towel tighter over his torso.

"Do you want your clothes?" Sara's voice seemed so close, like she was speaking directly into his ear.

"Are they ready?" Oh, to have his clothes back so he could beat a path to get out of her apartment as quickly as he could.

"Yeah," the sigh in her voice sent a shiver through his body. He heard her footsteps moving away from the door.

"Sara?" He called.

The footsteps stopped, "Yeah?" The sound of her voice was farther away this time.

"Could you bring me my phone when you bring my clothes? I need to check in with the lab," he lied.

He was looking at his toenails. It appeared they needed trimming. He wondered if she had any toenail clippers as he heard her reply.

"Sure. Anything else?" she asked.

"Toenail clippers?" Grissom questioned.

"In the cabinet over the sink. Anything else?" she said. In his mind's eye, he could see her again, lying across the bed.

"Yeah, where did you go when I called for you before?" His question almost sounded bashful to her ears.

"Oh, I went out to get some food. I just got back. Are you hungry?" She asked, hopeful he would stay to join her in a meal, alone together.

"No." He moved to sink, as her footsteps carried her down the hall and away from him. He opened the cabinet above the sink; it was neatly organized with q-tips on the top shelf, a bottle of liquid make-up, along with other various items for her face on the next shelf down. The third shelf held band aids, peroxide, Neosporin, and curiously a small tub of silvadene, which was used in burns. _Why would Sara have something for burns?_ he wondered. On the bottom shelf next to a hard oval shaped shell, he found what he was looking for, a maroon case of fingernail and toenail implements.

He sat down on the toilet and began to trim his overgrown toenails. He attempted to keep the clippings from scattering on her floor and flushed them when he finished.

At that time, Sara knocked on the door. His response was a startled: "Yes?"

"I have your clothes and your phone. I put your other stuff in a bag." Her voice sounded strained to him. He moved to open the door, when she continued. "Griss, you have been in there a very long time, and ugh...I really need to go."

"Go where?" He was puzzled.

"To the bathroom, you've been in there for about two hours. Listen, if you don't want me to see you, I'll go put your stuff in my bedroom, I'll go to the living room. Then, you can go to my room and dress and use your phone as you need and I can use the bathroom, as I need." She sounded so logical; he could do nothing but agree.

He heard her movements and when he was sure she was in the living room, he opened the door and almost sprinted into her bedroom, closing the door behind him with a bang.

Sara's bedroom intrigued him. He took a long look at her furnishings, her decorations, her dark blue comforter, an image again flashed through his brain of her lying naked before him. She had a few items of interest on her bedside table. A few odd pieces of jewelry, a picture of a dog in a frame, a tattered copy of "Moby Dick" and a small book of poetry was lying open next to her bed, he picked it up and began to read:

_'Sometimes I feel like you don't like to talk to me; _

_Sometimes I feel like you don't even like me; _

_Sometimes I wonder why I bother trying to talk to you; _

_Sometimes I wonder why you seemingly ignore me; _

_Sometimes I think there is more between us; _

_Sometimes I think there is nothing._

_I'm not sure what it is that we are doing;_

_I'm not sure at all. _

_I know you want things to go slow, but how much slower can they go. _

_I don't know how much longer I can go on like this; at this snail's pace. _

_I want so much more, but think that is impossible for someone like me. _

_I need clear signs of interest from you. I need to know if this is real. _

_I need to know if I'm just wasting my time. I need someone in my life. _

_I know I'm not the easiest person to understand, but I do know I don't want to be alone anymore. _

_I don't know how much longer I can go on like this; at this snail's pace. _

_I want so much more, but think that is impossible for someone like me. _

_Maybe one day you will know, _

_And everything will fall into place. _

_Maybe one day you will realize __why everything never worked out. _

_I don't know that I love you or even if I ever did; and I guess I want something I cannot have. _

_I don't know how much longer I can go on like this; at this snail's pace. _

_I want so much more, but think that is impossible for someone like me.' _

The book did not cite the writer of the poem, but it saddened him to think Sara read such unhappy prose.

He still needed to call Jim to get him out of this mess. He emptied the contents of the small bag Sara had left for him, he rifled through them, finding nothing missing. He punched in Jim's cell phone number.

"Hello," Brass' voice sounded hoarse, perhaps from smoking and drinking too much and from lack of sleep.

"Jim, it's Gil," he tried to say it smoothly, as if nothing were wrong.

"Yeah?" He was definitely irritated.

"You gotta get me out of this mess, it's your fault." Grissom was furious with Jim. "I'm naked in Sara's bedroom, and she is in the bathroom," he said.

"Congratulations." Gil's upbrows looked heavenward at Brass' flippant remark.

"What do I do?" he was getting desperate.

"Fuck her." Surprise and shame were featured on Grissom's face.

"NO! What do I do to get out of this?" Jim was not taking him seriously.

"Why would you want to?" Jim asked mildly.

"Jim!" Gil shouted into the phone.

"Tell her you have a crime scene to go to, full of those creepy crawlies you love so much," he said.

"What if she wants to go?" Grissom brain automatically looked for holes in the lie.

"Tell her it's up in Lincoln County and you're riding with Greg," said Jim.

"That won't work. Greg wouldn't know to lie about it, when Sara would ask him about it," said Gil.

"Gil, that woman loves you, do something, don't fuck it up. And you will. Gil, I'm hanging up now." Brass' tone sounded defeated.

Grissom ended the call. He knew he should have never called Jim, but who else could he have called?

No one.

He dressed in relative haste after making another quick phone call and made his way into her living room.

"I need to go. I called a cab and I'll wait downstairs." Grissom wouldn't look her in the eye, only stared at down at his feet. "I'm sorry for disturbing you," he said.

"No problem." She knew she couldn't let him escape without some explanation. Sara drew an encouraging breath and continued, "What about the reason why you were here to begin with?" she asked.

Grissom looked in her brown eyes and saw the hurt and rejection. He really didn't know how to answer her, he only knew he had to put as much distance between the two of them as soon as possible, because he felt himself harden as he stared into her eyes. Sara looked down at something on the floor, refusing to met his eyes, because she knew whatever he was about to say would hurt her, more than his refusal of her dinner invitation several years earlier.

"Brass was wrong to suggest that while I was inebriated. I couldn't control myself, maybe I can't control myself around you, but I have to try," he said.

"Will you be able to control yourself around me, even if we both know about this thing between us? Is it about the promotion? What can I do to make you understand how much I..." she said sadly trailed off. Looking up at him, seeing his expression was killing her, so she concentrated her focus on the door to her apartment.

"Sara, don't. We can't be involved. Just no," he wanted to beg her to try to understand his reasons.

"Just go," she implored.

He left without a sound.

She cried when the door shut. Nothing could ease the sobs. She went to her refrigerator and quickly opened a bottle of beer and drank it down in one long swig. She soon finished off all of the six-pack.

A lone tear fell down his face as he made his way out of her apartment and her personal life forever.

Later when the cab let Grissom out in front of his townhouse, Brass was sitting on Gil's doorstep, smoking an expensive cigar. The smoke captured Grissom's rapt attention, again. He stared at the smoke as it drifted slowly upward. He shook his head as if to clear the image. Beside Jim, there were two containers of coffee and a box.

"I see you have coffee and some donuts," he said to Brass.

**"You ruined my surprise."**

**THE END **

**A/N: Remember this is before 'Bloodlines', so it had to be full of angst. We all know how it turns out, this story was just another little bump in the road of their complex relationship.**


End file.
